Steel, lighting and little birds
by braen
Summary: Teen titans or Young Justice? Elseworld. Medieval setting. Tim is a servant at Lord Oakwood's palace in Blüdhaven, ugliest city of all. A really quick kid and a supernaturally strong young knight arrive to his city. 6chp up. corrected and edited
1. A bird in a cage

I. - A bird in a cage

_It was a dark city._

_Tall, noisy, dirty and evil. A city so full of sins and sinners that it stank even in its tallest rooftops. And they were really, really tall rooftops... _

_But there he was nonetheless, clad in bright green and red, jumping, running, nearly flying._

_Green legs._

_Red breast._

_A little singing bird turned into a bird of prey._

_The sinners run before him, scared, afraid of him, though he was half their age and nearly half their height. But he was their nightmare still. Part of the night and the dark, part of the law and the justice._

_And he flew. He flew and jumped and scared the sins away..._

The boy opened his eyes lazily to the morning light, grunting as he came slowly to terms with the new day.

He knew he had been dreaming, but he was unable to remember his dream in the least. As always. Every morning he knew and forgot. All was gone except the thrilling feeling of freedom that still burned in his chest.

The rest... All in the dark.

He covered his head with his thin blanket, wishing he could stay in bed a little more. But birds were singing and the room was full of sunlight already, which meant the sun was more than up, as he should be. He was late, really late. But he felt so tired...

"Tim!" Someone took his blanket out, letting the cold morning air to freeze his breach-less legs. "If George finds you in bed he is going to beat you to death."

Roland... 

The boy sat up, looking at his younger friend with a frown.

"He is going to find an excuse to do so nonetheless" He answered. 

But still he got up and dressed. For Roland was right. It was late. He was the only boy left in the common room.

"You are lucky Lord Gerrald is not here today, stable boy. You'd have lost his breakfast." Continued Roland-. And you know he blames George when one of us oversleeps.

Another truth.

Their lord was a really strict man and didn't like recklessness in his service. George, Service chief, the one in charge and their boss, didn't like to be admonished. So he just beat the boys if anything went wrong.

Sometimes it was their fault.

Most of the times it was not, but he just did it nonetheless.

"He is hunting or something, isn't he?" Remembered Tim, fighting with his already too small boots. He needed a new pair, but it had been sometime since George had last paid them.

"Yeah, with the Earl. He'll be out the whole week."

"A whole week of happy George, then."

Roland smiled, helping him with the second boot.

"We can ask for some money for your boots."

"Not _so_ happy George, I'm afraid."

"You won't know if you don't try."

He shrugged, ignoring the way his toes were bent to fit in there. He was more likely to end cleaning the latrines than receiving his money. Still, a whole week without Lord Gerrald Oakwood was going to feel good enough.

He had been reluctant, but Roland had finally talked to George himself to ask for their respective pays. And, surprisingly enough, George had obliged. He had not given them all of their money, of course. They were too young and someone had to take care of their interests... But Tim had money enough for a pair of shoes and some pastries, and Roland was eager to buy a cloak. One that wouldn't damp when it rained.

So, late in the afternoon, all their chores finished already, they set to the market place, feeling like little children with new shoes. They were on their own and they had nothing to do but enjoy themselves. Tim couldn't remember the last time he had an afternoon off. And they had money for once. Wasn't it great?

"There's a stall at the end of the square. They do fine jobs with leather." Said Roland who, being one of the cooks assistants and the one in charge of the pantry, knew the market by heart.

So there they went, to the leather stall. Just to take a look, really. It was most probably too expensive for them.

But they had fine boots and excellent cloaks and Tim finally spent all of his money in a waterproof pair, hoping for his body to stop growing so he could keep them for more than two years.

Roland, though, was wiser, if younger, and bought one of the cheaper cloaks.

"And now that we have what we were looking for... Do you fancy some sweets and pastries?"

"I have no money left."

"I do!" Roland took him by the arm. "And as I'm going to keep your old boots, let me repay you with some candy."

The stable boy found it fair enough.

Well, ok, not really. But he _did_ fancy some sweets and he didn't know when he was going to have the opportunity to buy those Turkish pastries again... and perhaps they could beg for a little tea with their sweets...

He was already savouring it all in his mind when Roland cursed under his breath.

"What?"

As an answer, his friend signalled to his left.

There was a quarrel in one of the stalls. Two guards were laughing as the owner yelled at them. For what they could make, they had taken some of his merchandise and were not paying for it.

"I hate those Earl Guards." Said Roland. "They do everything they want."

"They think they are better than us."

"Aren't they?" Was Roland's bitter response.

"No."

And, without even thinking about it, he found himself strolling to the guards, who were turning their backs ready to leave.

"Stop where you are, sirs. You have still not paid this man his money". He said, and he was surprised by the authority in his voice. 

The guards turned as silence fell around them. One of them laughed when he saw him, but the other sneered in hatred and comptent.

"What have you said, half pint?"

"I said you have to pay, like everyone else."

"But, you see... we are not everyone else." Said the laughing one. "We are the law."

"Yeah? Then the law is really ugly and stinky."

Now the two of them were frowning.

"Ok, kid, you've asked for it."

And they threw their punches to him.

It all happened really fast, even if he saw it all in a kind of slow motion fashion.

He heard Roland gasp and some women scream. He saw the two gauntleted fists coming to him... and he felt himself crouching and jumping as swiftly as a cat. It felt like something he had done all of his life. Those men were bigger and stronger... but they were also clumsy and slow. 

He unbalanced one of them sweeping a leg under his feet. The man fell, a loud thud and clang welcoming him when he hit the floor. Then, using a broomstick he took from one of the witnesses, he knocked him unconscious before turning to the other one. 

He was drawing his sword.

The boy didn't give him time to use it. Jumping again higher than he would have ever believed, he kicked him hard on the face. The man staggered and the kid used the advantage to hit him again, with the broom this time. This other guard also fell, and didn't stand up.

The crowd gathered nearer.

"Aren't you going to kill them, lad?" Asked someone.

"No! We don't kill!"

"We?" Roland took him by the arm, making him turn and look him in the eye.

"We..." Tim found himself lost, as if waking up. "The good guys..."

He shook his head.

"Anyway, we don't kill -he repeated, not so confident all of a sudden."

And he crouched, picking the guard purse.

"How much did they owe you?"

The shopkeeper looked at the bag.

"100 crowns."

"The truth." Again, that voice that was not quite his.

"23 crowns."

He nodded, giving the man his money and retrieving the purse to his owner. Then he sighed, looking at the unconscious guards.

"Should we call someone?" He had lost the edge, whatever it was.

"Who? The guard?" Roland was still appalled.

"Oh." Tim cringed. "So... what now?"

"I'll tell you what. Now we are going home before anyone comes here and you get into real trouble."

He nodded again, feeling relieved.

"Yes, let's go."

"And perhaps you can tell me what was all of this about. How in the world did you do that!"

"It was not me."

And even if Roland frowned in annoyance, it was the truth. It had not been him. It had been someone else, another person inside him that he had forgotten to be.

And now, that someone had fled again and he was alone... 

And he had beaten two guards...

Man! He was in really deep shit.

Two hours had passed and, inside the comfortable walls of their lord household, Roland astonishment had transformed into awe. And now all the male servants bellow sixteen knew about his little adventure.

He tried to explain to them this feeling it had been anyone else but they just laughed and teased, not believing a single word.

And now they were retelling it, exaggerating the whole event, to all those maids that had nothing better to do. They looked at him in amazement and even some interest. So.. perhaps... it was not such a bad thing, wasn't it?

"So... Timothy is a kind of hero?" Was saying Mairead, a blonde, fair girl with big green eyes and the cutest freckles in the world.

"Well... not a hero..." Was his lame answer. "Is just that I got angry and..."

"TIMOTHY! ROLAND!" George's powerful voice thundered across the corridor, making them all jump and killing the idle conversation.

Roland went pale. He had sounded really angry.

The two boys gulped and stood up. Better not to have him waiting if he was half as angry as he sounded.

They run to the front door, were George was waiting, arms crossed and red-faced. But it was not him who made the boys stop dead and gasp. Besides him was a guard and the shopkeeper they had just helped before.

"Is it them?" Asked the guard.

Tim guts twisted when the man nodded.

"Yes, they are the ones. They hit the guards and robbed them."

The boy caught a glimpse of fear and desperation in the man's voice and he realized he had a swollen lip. They were forcing him to lie.

"Is that true?" George's frown was so deep his eyes were mere black dots under his thick brows.

"I... we..." Roland squeezed his arm.

"It was only me." Said Tim. "Roland had nothing to do with it."

The guard smiled, as did George.

"Roland?" The guard turned to the younger boy.

He was trembling as Tim smiled to him, reassuringly.

"Just tell the truth." He muttered.

"I did nothing, sir." Said his friend finally.

The shop keeper nodded too.

The guard smile broadened, putting a hand on Roland's shoulder. 

"Then you have nothing to fear, lad. Go and continue with your chores."

The boy stood still and Tim had to stomp on his foot to make him react and leave.

This left him alone with the three adults.

He was so scared he felt like pucking.

"So... Timothy... Did you believe you could beat the law and get away with it, boy?"

He clenched his fists.

"No, sir."

"Then, why did you do it?"

"Because you and your men are not the law. Law should be fair."

This made the man loose his patient smile.

"Take off your shirt and kneel, kid."

Tim didn't move until George came and, pushing him, made him fall on his knees. 

"Your shirt, stupid! You only have one!"

Humiliated, he took off his shirt.

The guard, his nasty smile regained, took off his belt.

"Hands over your head, please."

He did as he was told and bit his lips hard, knowing what would come next.

The first blow made him bend and curl up, his head under his arms, trying to protect himself from the whip. The guard hit him fifteen times and the boy didn't utter a single sound. And how he wished to cry and shriek...

"You understand this is for your own good, son?" Said the man, stopping a moment. "Five more, so you won't forget your lesson."

He miscounted, probably on purpose, because he hit him six more times, not five. He did shout with these last lashes as he felt his flesh part under the leather of the belt and the metal of the hilt.

He was nearly lying on the floor when it all ended, barely able to feel his body but for the lashes in his back and neck. He tried to restrain his tears and sobs, but wasn't as successful as he had wished.

"Now you have something to think about next time you believe you are something more than nothing." Said the guard, kneeling besides him. "And, next time, your friend won't go away with it, is that clear?" Added the man in a murmur that made him shiver. Then he stood up, ignoring the trembling boy on the floor, turning to George. "As your master is one of our dear Earl's knights, we won't report this disgusting business this time. But you should keep a closer eye on these boys, servant, before they put your lord on shame."

George grunted as an answer and the guard, content with his victory, turn and left, the shopkeeper on his trail, sending nervous glances to Tim. But he really didn't care how guilty the man felt. He felt guiltier. Because of him that man had not only lost his goods but his dignity as well.

He had been stupid.

It was not the way to do things.

"You! Stand up!" George took him by the arm, making him stand on his feet. He had to do it twice, because his legs refused to cooperate. "You have work to do."

"Work...?" He managed.

The man gave him his shirt and a revolting smile.

"The latrines need a cleaning."

"But... it's nearly night time". His foggy mind spoke for him.

"You better hurry, then."

And he left him alone in the cold corridor, bleeding and shivering, his legs barely sustaining him. Everything spun around when he tried to focus his sight.

Roland came to him as he fell. Had he been watching all the time?

"The latrines..." He said to his friend.

"Fuck George and the latrines. You have a fever."

The younger kid signalled and the rest of the boys appeared there too.

"Mac and Arthur, you two do the latrines, ok? And make sure to avoid George. The rest... Help me carry Tim to the girls. They'll know what to do."

That night he dreamt again. He dreamt and knew and remembered.

He knew he was another person besides Timothy, the stable boy. And he knew he had been stupid, because there was a wrong way and a proper way to do things. And he was going to have to do things properly next time.

If law was unfair and there was no justice, then someone should see that justice was served.

He dreamt and knew and remembered. And, perhaps because of the fever, he didn't wonder how could he have forgotten it in the first place.


	2. The freakest of freaks

II.- The freakiest of freaks.

It was raining when he woke up that morning. In fact, the clipity-clap of the poodles over his roof was what brought the kid back to the land of the living. Well, that and the fact that one wheel went down a muddy hole, getting stuck and making his cart to stop abruptly.

So what? No one ever said he was a light sleeper.

So he woke up to the sound of rain and the cries of horses and his head hitting the ground as he fell off his bed.

"Damn!"

He leant out the window, rain wetting his bushy hair.

Marco and Ricco were already pushing the wheel as his brother, Rocco, pulled at the horses.

"Are you alright, lad?" Asked Ricco when he saw him.

He grunted at the clowns and went inside, dressing with his loud yellow acting costume. It was the only thing he had at hand. His cart needed a tidying up... but not in that very moment. It could wait another week or two.

"Let me help you!" He said while he got off.

Ricco and Marco smiled and stepped away from the wheel, making clear it was all his. He spitted on his hands, rubbing them, making more of a show than was really needed.

"Let's go."

He took the wheel in his hands and vibrated, making the whole cart to vibrate with him, freeing it from the mud. Rocco only had to pull at the horses again and this time it did work.

The cart was free to go on along with the rest of the caravan that had stopped to wait for them.

"Great job, Bartholomew! This gift of yours is astonishing!" Ricco patted him on the back.

"Yeah... astonishing... and yet I can't use it in any show."

"You don't want to be scorched alive because of your witchcraft, do you? Besides... being our helping clown is not that bad, is it?"

The McGuffin triplets (Marco, Ricco and Rocco were not their real names, but Mathew, John and Luke) made him enter the cart before he'd catch a cold, entering with him, teasing him for the reigning mess. They had adopted him as if he was one of them. Another buffoon tripping with his own big feet just to make the others laugh. And it was great, really... But sometimes it all felt as if he was wasting his time and effort doing something he was not meant to do.

"The bearded woman or the dogman draw more attention than us and no one is burning them alive."

"Freaks don't count as witchcraft."

"And am I not a freak?"

"Of course not!"

He said nothing, because they had discussed the issue too many times not to know it was no use, but he also knew it was false. He_ was_ a freak. The fastest kid alive... And he had to hide it instead of making his surrogated family incredibly rich.

It sucked.

"Look, Barty, we can talk about it to the boss... but not know, ok?" Said Ricco, trying to lighten him up.

"Yes. Perhaps in some modern city like London... or Paris... But not here."

"Why not here?"

"Don't you know how they call the place?"

"It's called Blüdhaven, isn't it?"

"That's just the name in the maps, but people call it The Blood Haven."

"People are so original..." murmured the kid.

"Ok, ok. Not very original, but quite descriptive. The Earl in here is not a good man. He is mean and treacherous and his men are the law, the judges and the executioners." Continued Rocco (that is, Luke), who liked to show how much he knew.

"Why do we make a show there, then?"

"Because the Haven's people deserves to laugh from time to time too."

Bart pondered it. It made sense. And then, bringing laugh to a place so dark and scary was a good thing, wasn't it? 

Still...

"Would you try to convince the boss after Blüdhaven?"

"Promised." Said the triplets in unison.

Bart winced.

Talking as their was one was their best numbers. Cute and creepy all at once.

"You know breaking a promise it's a sin, don't you?"

"In fact, the sin is swearing by God's name in vane."

"Isn't it swearing in general?"

The three identical clowns made a thinking face as Bart grunted again. The kid decided to ignore their teasing peering out of the window, wondering how long would it take to get to that Blood Haven place.

He would get there in a blink.

He sighed. Why in the world did they want super-speed if he was not allowed to use it?

When they finally (good Lord!) arrived at the city, it was nearly night time and the big gate that gave entrance to the Haven was closed. Bart grunted as he faced the big walls that surrounded the city.

"Now what?" He asked to no one in particular.

"Now we are going to build the tents before it gets too dark to see." Said Mr. Filippis, boss, director and kind of grandfather to them all. 

"And what about supper?" Protested the teen, his stomach making loud noises as if to asses his point.

"Feed the animals and then feed yourself, lad."

"And vice versa?"

"First the animals, then yourself."

"Aw..."

But he did as he was told, because he knew the rules. And he did not use his super-speed, because Mr. Filippis didn't like him using his powers around the animals.

_"You scare them."_

As if horses and lions could be scared so easily. Still, as we have already said, he did his chores before going to the cook's cart and, pouting a little, getting a really big bowl of stew. He munched then in silence while he saw the older men fighting with the ropes and clothes of the tents. 

It was going to take them soooo long...

He ate in a hurry and, before any of them could realize, he was besides them.

"What can I do? "

The men turned to him.

"You can sit down and watch."

"Come one... I won't break anything this time." Protested the kid.

Ok. 

Last time he had tried to help with the tents using his super-speed he had messed it all quite badly. Some ropes broke and they lost half of their day starting all over again. But he had learned the lesson. Really!

"Of course you won't, because I have another job for you." Said Mr.Filippis.

"I've already fed all the animals. At normal speed!"

"Nothing to do with it, Bart." Said Mr. Filippis, giving him a bundle of posters. "And, for once, I don't care if you use your gift to finish this chore."

He was running and it felt great.

Even the wind felt solid and slow in comparison. When he ran like that no one in the world could follow his track. He climbed the tall walls and passed in front of some guards and they didn't even blink. One of them murmured something while he held his hat, but he couldn't hear him, because he was faster than the sound and, when the guard finished talking, he was already three streets away.

In just a few minutes he had finished stapling the posters. And it had taken him that long because he didn't know the city and got lost a pair of times. And perhaps he shouldn't have stopped to play with the kittens... or to listen to the music coming out of the Inn... or to pry inside the wish wheel at the end of Long Street.

So perhaps, all in all, it had been more than a few minutes because it was already dark. Time to call it a day. Bart stapled the last of his posters and raced through the city again, this time on his way out.

It was then when he saw it.

Hadn't he been moving at super-speed, he was sure his eye wouldn't have registered it. But when one is that fast, the rest of the world moves in slow motion. And that's how he saw a shadow darker than the rest of the shadows merely shifting, changing directions and hiding behind some really big crates. 

He slowed to see better and his amazement grew when he realized the shadow had blue eyes that were staring directly at him. Had it spotted him?

He stopped then, making the eyes grow bigger.

"How...?" Murmured a young voice from behind the crate.

Bart didn't know what to do. He was exposing himself, he knew... but... Who the hell would be hiding in the shadows in the middle of the night? He was trying to decide when a green hand came out of the shadows and, taking him by the wrist, pulled him behind the crate too.

"Hey!"

"Shhh..." A hand covered his mouth while a dark cloak wrapped him. "You are going to expose me." Murmured the stranger.

The kid should have protested, but know that he had definitely stopped, he heard it. It sounded of a large group of heavy boots hitting the ground while they ran. So he stood still (which, by the way, was a really big effort) and listened to the stampede as it got closer, and closer... The stranger tensed when a group of guards passed running in front of them and didn't let go of him until the sound of their stomping died away again.

"Sorry." He said. "You are too yellow."

He still couldn't make his face, but his eyes were adjusting to the dark and so he realized it was because the stranger was masked. It gave him the creeps. 

Bart stood up and get away from him in a blink. 

"Those were guards!"

"Really?" Those blue eyes under the mask were amused.

"Are you a burglar? Am I in danger?"

He smiled, stepping a little out on the light. He was dressed in a red shirt and green leggings, but his dark cape blended into the shadows, making him nearly invisible.

"Even if I was, you could ran away from me, couldn't you?"

Uh-oh.

"I... I don't know what are you talking about."

"Come on. At first I thought you had just popped out of nothing, but... It's just you are too quick for the human eye, isn't it?"

"I still don't know what you are talking about."

He smiled again. Bart realized the guy was not much older than himself.

"Ok, don't tell me. So... you are from the circus, uh?"

"How do you know?"

"You are new in the city. I've never seen you before and I'm sure I would remember you. A circus has just arrived, I've seen them setting the tents. You are dressed in really bright colours. And lots of posters like this" He said, showing him one of the posters he had just stapled, "had appeared. Apparently, out of thin air. Just like you."

Bart scratched his head. Was he supposed to deny the obvious?

"Aren't you scared of something?"

"I'm amazed, that's for sure. Even curious. But I don't see why should I be scared. You've had plenty of time to use your ability to do evil and you have not."

"So.. You are not going to turn me down for witchcraft?"

"Before or after turning myself down? "

"But..."

"Look, Flash Kid," said the boy-, your gift is magic, but magic is not always the devil's trick. It could be a miracle.

"A miracle? As in... A gift from god and such?"

"Why not?"

Bart shrugged.

"No offense meant but... If I'm ever charged with witchcraft, don't try to talk on my behalf. They would add heresy to the list."

The stranger laughed.

"Deal." He said. "And know, I must go, as you should, Flash Kid. It's really late for so young a clown."

And before Bart could protest, ask or even deny (even before he could decide what was the wisest thing to do), the masked boy had jumped on the crates and, then, to the roofs, disappearing into the dark.

The sound of boots was coming closer again.

Damn!

Bart ran to the Circus again, cursing under his breath. For all his speed he had been clumsy and slow around a mysterious and masked guy that, come to think of it, had never answered his question about being a burglar.

He was sitting on the stairs of his own couch when Ricco came to him.

"Hey, Bartolo! Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

The boy just shrugged, which made the clown to sit besides him.

"What's the matter?"

The boy grimaced.

"Well... Someone saw me in the city. But he is not going to turn me down!" He added quickly, seeing the alarm rise in Ricco's face. "I mean... He said he was amazed, but not scared. And... He said that perhaps it was not witchcraft, that perhaps it was a miracle..."

"So.. Is that it? You are wondering whether you could be a miracle instead of a wizard."

Bart frowned.

"No. Should I?"

"Er... Well, I would surely wonder that myself. Most of the time."

"But I know it's not witchcraft, nor miracle. It's just something that happens. "

"So it does not bother you?"

The boy shook his head.

"It stopped bothering me some years ago."

"Then... you are thoughtful because..."

"Have you ever had the feeling that you've done something already, even if it's the first time you do it?"

"Like a déjà vú?"

"It has a name? Whatever. I mean... at first it did not bugged me, but... He called me Flash Kid and ... Well... It kinda rings a bell. It's not quite correct, it doesn't sound as good as it should... but I know that name."

"Perhaps you have heard it somewhere else... or perhaps you have dreamt it."

"Dreaming the future would be considered witchcraft? Or a miracle?"

"It depends. Are you an aristocrat?"

"You know I'm not."

"Then it's most definitively witchcraft."

Bart raised his eyebrows, wondering if Ricco was joking or being serious. Sometimes the line between his humour and his sarcasm was so thin it was not even a line. But perhaps he was right. Perhaps he had dreamt that name, or had heard it somewhere else... It meant nothing. Nothing at all. And still... Still...

Flash Kid...

If only he could remember why it sounded so familiar...


	3. A oneman army

III.- A one-man army my ass!

The rain that had accompanied them the entire previous journey had gone for good and the sun was bright and warm over their heads. Everything still smelled of rain, though... The earth, the grass... The horses...

Gee! Especially the horses! Man, how could an animal be so stinky?

And slow. These horses were also slow. They had been riding for three days and still he could only catch a glimpse of that Blüdhaven place in the distance if he forced his eyes.

-I could be already there -he protested-. And I could have carried you and the horses too!!

-You know your powers are not to be used lightly, Conner -admonished Sir Charles, his mentor and master, Royal Knight and advisor of the King itself.

-But...

-It will be your first mission, Conner, and you don't want to spoil it. You can be our king greatest secret weapon. A one-man army. But first you have to prove you are trustworthy, son.

Sir Charles went on with his fanatical chatter ("You have to prove yourself useful", "know the rules" "blah blah bla" et cetera, et cetera), so Conner turned into his "u-hu yessir" mode, ignoring him altogether and concentrating on the landscape.

As they got nearer he could make the shape of the Earl's castle, up the hill that dominated the valley, and the city itself, bigger than he had imagined but still small in comparison to the capital. But that wasn't what made his blue eyes to open in amazement and awe. There, in the middle of all that grey and green he could make another shape. Bright, colourful, magnificent...

-There's a circus!!

-Conner! -The voice of Sir Charles brought him abruptly back from the joyful world he had just envisioned-. Have you been listening to anything I said?

-Er... I...

The knight scolded him, but finally sighed, giving up on him.

-So... a circus. Can you see it from here?

-Yessir.

This made Sir Charles smile.

-Your powers are getting better with each passing day.

-Thanks, sir.

-And now, as you are so wise you don't need to listen to me, you are going to tell me the ten sacred rules of our Order.

-What? All ten of them?

-Yes, all ten of them.

-Aw... literally?

-I will be content if they are accurate enough.

-Mmmm... -The boy shifted uncomfortably in his smelly mount-. Let's see... God is our Lord. The Bible is our compass. The king is our... our... boss?

-The king is our guide -Sir Charles sighed again-. Accurate enough. Go on. Seven left.

-The king is our guide... -he repeated-. His flag is our mantle. His lands are our home. We serve our guide and our Lord. We protect our home and our mantle. We... we...

-Three left.

-Tsk. We are the shield to stop all evil, to protect the humble and the weak and blah blah -he finished, summarizing the general feeling of all that useless rubbish.

-We are the humble shield to stop all evil. We are the walls to defend the weak. And the last one, Conner?

-We have our heads full of nonsense?

-Are you mocking our sacred rules?

"God forbid me!", he thought bitterly, but still he just snorted.

-Our righteous path is a mirror to those that cross our way.

-Meaning?

-We must set example -he said in a flat tone.

-Exactly.

-I already know all of it!!

-You must not only know it, you must believe it and live by it. It will be then when you'll be ready to be a Knight of Our Majesty.

The boy just didn't say it, but no one had asked him whether he wanted to be a knight or a postman. And, sure, being a knight was one really cool thing to be. You got power, you got respect, you got admiration and scones of beautiful chicks interested in you... But sometimes all those rules got in the way of the actual fun.

Still, he could not complain. As Sir Charles reminded him all too often, if they hadn't found him, anyone else could have. And what would those people had done as soon as they realized he was different? Kill him. Or try to. Shun him of all human contact, treat him like a freak, like a beast... At best he would have ended up being sold to a Circus like that one at Blüdhaven's outskirts. So he was lucky he had been given a home and a family, even if it was an anal-retentive one.

And now, to prove those sixteen years of taking care of him had been worth the effort, he had been sent to this Blüdhaven place to help the Earl with some terrorist that was...mmm... well... terrorizing his people.

And Blüdhaven was at the very bottom of the world.

-At least I hope we get there before the sun sets -he fumbled.

And his horse agreed with a loud whinny.

They got to the city by mid afternoon.

The circus people was preparing for the show. Animals were fed and cleaned and you could see people running by and large, doing a little something here, a little something there...

-We could come tonight and see the show -suggested the boy as they passed a group of children that were trying to sneak a peek from behind some curtains.

-You have more important appointments tonight, Conner.

-Have I?

His murmur was full of disappointment and, as they went by, his eyes followed the group of kids, that, suddenly, screamed and rushed, overtaking them while they laughed. One of the clowns (for he ought to be a clown, dressed in bright yellow and red and all his face painted) appeared from behind the curtain, scaring them, flailing his arms and booing, but he stopped dead when he saw them.

-Oh... sorry, sirs -he said-. I was just...

And he turned in a hurry, entering the tent.

Conner sighed.

-Did you see? People don't like us.

-The right people like us, Conner -was Sir Charles answer as he sneered in comptent to the tents-. It's not for the appreciation of the likes of him that we do our bidding.

-But aren't we supposed to be like... er... their heroes? We are their wall and shield and all that stuff.

-People don't always appreciate what is good for them. You'll find that, more than once, people make heroes out of thieves and assassins.

-Why?! That's stupid!

-A misconception of freedom and, mostly, envy and hatred towards those who have more than them.

-That sounds simplistic.

-This people are simple.

"I can see why they don't like us", he thought.

But he just nodded to his master. He was not in the mood for another lesson.

So he just concentrated in following him in silence, thinking about how funny the circus was going to be and how boring his more important appointments seemed in comparison. And he was hungry... really hungry. So, ok, he was not really good in the whole being silent thing.

-Are we having dinner anytime soon?

-As soon as we reach our destination.

-And that would be?

His master smiled, turning his horse round a corner as soon as they crossed the gates. So, they were not going to the castle yet.

-Depends on how long will it take us to reach our host's house.

He pointed towards a really big house that was a little afar. Even if it was inside the walls, it was clear that it did not belong in the city. That big house surrounded by its own walls and garden couldn't be part of a smelly and dirty city.

-Our host? Aren't we staying at the Earl's?

-It's better for our mission to stay in touch with the city life, and Lord Oakwood's household is nearly as noble a place as the Earl's castle itself.

-Oakwood?

-Does it ring a bell? -His smile broadened-. It's my own surname, Conner. I'm Charles Oakwood. And we are going to stay at my brother's home. So, please, behave yourself.

Two things were plainly obvious about Lord Gerrald Oakwood when one reached his house: He was fat and he was rich.

And he was largely so in both cases.

His house was really big, a three storey building with carved marble balustrades on its flourished balconies and his own bell tower, part of his own tiny chapel, besides his own fountain in its own garden. Not to mention the two really big shields that crowned his main entrance. Conner knew one of them, it entitled the owner as a Royal Knight. The other, he deduced, was that of the Oakwoods.

The round man approached them as they dismounted, hugging his brother in a tight embrace.

-Charles, how wonderful to have you here at last!

-It's wonderful to be here too, Gerrald.

The two men held their embrace a little longer before turning their attention to him.

-So, this is the boy -Said Lord Gerrald.

-Yes, this is him -Sir Charles patted him on the shoulder-. Conner, this is my brother, Lord Gerrald Oakwood.

-Pleased to meet you, sir.

-The pleasure is all mine, kid -Gerrald also patted him on the shoulders-. You are nearly a legend! I'm willing to see with my own eyes those marvels I've heard all too often from my brother.

-Yeah... of course... -Conner was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Not that he didn't like the attention... but this Lord Gerrald gave him the creeps-. Now I'd better take the horses to the stable...

-No way, lad. What do I have a stable boy for? -The man turned his pinky and smiling face to the house-. Timothy!!

They waited and, as seconds passed, the smile vanished from Lord Gerrald's face, being replaced by a deep frown.

-Timothy!! -He called again-. Where the hell is this boy now?

-Here, sir -a boy appeared finally by the front door. He was more or less his age, though he was shorter and skinnier (not scrawny, though, just more slender). He was wearing an apron and was dusting his hands in it-. You said you wanted all available hands in the kitchen, sir. And I was... well... available at the moment.

His words were respectful and soft-spoken, but something in his eyes and stance yelled his comptent towards his Lord.

-Take the horses and see that they are fed and taken care of -said Gerrald, his cheeks angry red.

-Yes, sir -the boy bowed before coming to them.

-And, Tim?

Added his Lord while Timothy was taking the reins. The boy turned to him.

-Yes, sir?

-When you finish come look for me. I can find some work for you for your _idle hours_.

-Yes, sir.

Again, correction in his words and gestures not quite hiding this edge of something else under his eyes. And Conner was sure the boy did it on purpose. He watched him as he took the horses and left, and he was sure he had seen the kid sneer when their eyes met. He would bet this Timothy didn't like Royal Knights either.

Sir Charles snorted.

-You are too soft with your service, Brother -he gave his opinion-. You should have a firmer hand with that boy.

-I do, I do... But he is hopeless. Not even beating does with him. If I don't fire him is just because he have nowhere to go.

-You are too kind to your own good.

-No one is ever too kind, Chuck -Lord Gerrald shook his head sadly and beatifically-. Anyway, let's go and have dinner. I'm sure you and our guest here are hungry and tired.

-You can bet, Gerry, you can bet.

And, taking him by the arm, Lord Gerrald conducted his brother through the big main doors.

Conner followed them from afar, not really at ease with this last piece of conversation. He was quite sure beating the service was not protecting the humble and the weak. But, of course... He was just an orphan that had lived all his life secluded in a monastery, living among his equals. So perhaps, as Sir Charles said, people just didn't know what was good for them and, sadly, it was up to people like them to do the hard and dirty work in order to get a safer, nicer world.

Perhaps.

But...

Sometimes he doubted. And he knew doubt was the seed of the demon and the soil of despair and... Blah blah blah.

But sometimes he doubted because sometimes he felt it was not the way. And not only because outside the monastery walls the world seemed suddenly unfair, but because somewhere in his chest burned a fire that he quite not understood. He wanted to be a knight, sure! He believed, more or less, in their ten golden rules. But it was not enough, because he knew the golden rules were just other ones:

Truth, justice, fairness and freedom.

They popped out of his mind from time to time, from a dream, perhaps, or when he was not really paying attention. And he knew they were truer than the sun over his head... Even if he did not know exactly where they came from.


	4. Extended duties

IV.- Extended duties

Tim couldn't believe his luck... His lack of it, more exactly. Roland would have pointed out that it was not a case of bad luck, but a case of big mouth... and probably he would be right. He had wanted to piss Lord Gerrald off and make a fool out of him in front of his guests. And he had known punishment was going to follow his attitude. Ok. So far, so good... But...

This?!

-I beg your pardon, sir? -he asked finally, willing to admit that he had got it wrong.

-You are going to be Sir Conner's assistant at all times while he stays here as my guest.

Ok.

He got it right.

Sir Conner's assistant... Just Great. Not only would he have less spare time, he would have to put up with that knight-wanna-be.

-Is there any problem, son? -Lord Gerrald was smiling.

-No, sir.

-Then, go. Sir Conner is already in his room.

-Yes, sir.

He knocked the door before entering, though it was not really necessary. Service didn't count as people, so it didn't matter at all if they entered uninvited.

The knight was arranging his belongings over the bed, looking around helplessly.

-Where the hell are the drawers in this room?

-In the wardrobe, sir -answered Tim, even though he knew he had not been asking him.

The boy turned with a jump.

-Don't do that ever again!

-Do what, sir?

-Scaring me like that. Can't you knock?

-Certainly, sir. I did.

Sir Conner raised an eyebrow and blushed childishly. How old could he be? Sixteen? Seventeen? He was really big, and the shadow of a beard darkened his chin... and still he blushed in embarrassment.

-Oh... Good -he coughed-. So.. The wardrobe. And that would be...?

-This, sir -Tim went to a door and opened it. It led to a really tiny room... or a really big wardrobe. It was empty, giving the idea of much more space than it really had.

-Wow. This wardrobe is bigger than my room -said the knight.

Tim ignored him, already taking his things and putting them in the wardrobe. Conner watched him work in silence for a while.

-What are you doing?

-My job, sir.

-Your job? Weren't you the stable boy?

-My duties have been extended, sir. Now I'm also your assistant. Haven't you been informed, my lord?

-No.

And he went silent again while he shifted from foot to foot.

-So... er... -he said finally as Tim closed the wardrobe's door-. You are my personal assistant, right?

-Seems so, sir.

-Your name was Timothy, wasn't it?

-Yes, sir.

The boy grimaced.

-Can I call you Tim?

-Certainly, sir. My Lord can call me whatever he feels like to. You are a Royal Knight, sir.

Conner frowned, annoyed, and Tim had to admit he was having a great time.

-Can you drop it?

-Drop what, sir?

-This whole "sir" thing! You don't have to end all sentences with a "sir".

-Of course I must, sir. I can, however, combine it with other terms if your lordship is going to be more comfortable, my lord.

-You are doing it on purpose!

-Do what, your knightship?

The bulkier boy just threw his arms to the sky in desperation.

-Ok, ok! "Sir" would do! -He gave up-. Just not more "knightship", ok?

-As you wish, sir. Does my Lord need anything else? A bath? A bed heater?

Conner's right brow twitched dangerously as the boy held his gaze. Perhaps he was pushing it a little too much...

-No, thank you.

-May I wake you up before or after the sun, sir?

-Wake me...? Can't I wake up on my own?

-As you please, sir -he answered, bowing.

Then he went to a corner and stood still, hands resting on his sides, watching the knight. He eyed him for a long time before getting really nervous.

-Well?

-Well, sir?

-What are you doing now?!

-Waiting for my Lord to go to sleep, sir. In case you need something before you do.

-It's not necessary!!

-Are you dismissing me, sir?

-Er... Yes, yes! Dismissed!!

-As you wish, sir -he bowed again-. Goodnight, sir.

And he left the room, suppressing a smile until he closed the door behind him.

Man! Wasn't this going to be funny, after all?

Later that night he was jumping from roof to roof, free of the stables, the horses, the royal knight and lord Gerrald. It was like waking up each night to embrace a different life. Tim faded as he put on his green leggings and red waistcoat, vanishing behind the mask and the cloak. And then he turned into someone else, and it felt better and truer than anything else in his life.

And so, he had been doing it for a month now. Mostly learning, mostly training, getting to know his city by heart, her ways, her dark alleys, her darkest sins...

Ok, he had stopped the occasional thief, and had messed with some guards that he knew for a fact were regular bullies. And, also, he had been spreading some rumour here, a bit of exaggeration there... A reputation was good in the business.

But, above all, he knew he had to learn to be what the city needed him to be: The best.

And that was what he planned to do this particular night.

As a child, he grew the habit of reading everything that landed in his hands, which, in his case, meant he had read the whole of Lord Gerrald's library at least twice. Mostly at night, because it was forbidden for the service to enter the library except for cleaning or serving, but sometimes he had taken away some books (who was going to notice, anyway?) and read them in the stable, which was far warmer than the library at night. Not many novels, that was the truth. So he had grown up reading about the order of the Royal Knights, their square-minded rules, their founding members, the art of battling and fighting and, his favourites, classic tactics and militia books.

He was retaking the habit, only changing his sources.

Lord Gerrald's library was tiny compared to the one inside the Cathedral (he had learnt there a thing or two about herbal remedies and medicine) and, specially, the one in the earl's castle. Not to mention the one he was going to visit that night: the lawyer's. He needed to know the law and its premises if he wanted it respected.

Suddenly, he stopped and became one with the shadows, for he heard the heavy boots of two guards.

-They say they are finally in town -was saying one of them when they got nearer.

-Yeah, my brother-in-law was at the gate when they entered.

-Did he see him?

-See who?

-You know who!

-Oh, come on! You don't believe the rumours.

-Of course I do! Why on earth would the king send only two knights if not?

The other guard just grunted and said something else, but they were beginning to be too far away to hear them clearly. Tim cursed, following. He was curious now.

-I bet it's true and this knight is as amazing as they say.

-That's nonsense and I won't believe it until I see it with my own eyes.

-Neither I -said Tim.

The two guards turned, startled, as he emerged from the shadows. One tried to attack him, but was too slow and Tim just used his own weight to make the man hit the wall. The other one, the believer, just gulped and looked around helplessly.

He was superstitious and it was good.

-I know who you are! -He said.

-Yes? That's good -Tim acted his part, hoping for it to work before the other guard came round-. I also know who you are, so it's fairer this way.

-I've done nothing!

-That's even better, even if it's not true -he stepped closer and the man just stepped back.

-What do you want for me?

-I was only curious about this amazing knight. You said "why on earth would the king send only two knights?" My question is... why one earth send any knight, Terrance?

The man looked at him in despair, not really wanting to answer the question, but only because he was not sure he was going to like the answer.

-For me? -Tim lifted the heavy weight over the man's shoulders by deducing it-. So that's how the earl spends the city money?

-I... I don't know a thing, sir! It's only a rumour.

Tim heard the other guard grunt and smiled to his informer.

-Well, keep your ears wide open then, Terry -he murmured, getting a pair of inches closer-, in case I want to ask you any time.

And then he jumped over the nearest fence, disappearing from the scene before the wisest, bravest guard woke completely and put any sense inside Terry's head.

So, Conner and his stiff master were there just for him. It was nearly flattering.

It changed nothing. And, if he played his cards correctly, it was going to be even good for him. A reputation was a difficult thing to win, after all. And fooling two knights around was going to help him win the mother of all reputations.


	5. Not as half as mysterious after all

V.- Er.. mmm... Hello?

Bart was sure it had been a great show.

The greatest so far.

Rocco, Ricco and Marco had been clearly the kids' favourites, while adults preferred the animals and acrobats. And boys his age, he was sure, had been mesmerized by the beautiful contortionists. And everybody had been thrilled by the magician and had been amazingly scared by the freaks. People had clapped for minutes and they had offered a little reprise. Money and presents had arrived in plenty and they had promised to offer still another show the night after.

All in all, perhaps the best performance of their lives... and still he felt uneasy.

He had had very little sleep thinking about the masked and the name he had given him.

Flash Kid.

It still bugged him. The way it rang a bell, the way the stranger had taken his powers for granted so naturally...

Perhaps...

Perhaps the stranger had powers too. Perhaps he was not the only kid with a strange gift.

Or perhaps he came from the same place he was born... wherever it may be, of course. Perhaps these people had marvellous powers and gifts and were free to use them whenever they felt like it...

Or perhaps...

Perhaps he was trusting a masked stranger that hadn't even answered his questions, which, come to think of it, was not a really smart thing to do. What if he sold him out to the inquisition? Or kidnapped him to use him for his evil purposes?

He had to check, he had to be sure it was wise to trust the masked stranger.

So, when no one was paying attention during that night's celebration, he disappeared in a blur, heading to the city.

He was going to find the Redbreast and, this time, he was going to get some answers.

After some hours of relative time, FINALLY, he spotted him.

The dark shape that could only be him was emerging from a tall window, something hidden under his left arm while his right arm threw a rope with a hook that, at the second attempt, he managed to fix on the top of an adjacent building. Bart was in its roof before he could make his jump.

-You didn't answer my question yesterday -he told the masked teenager as soon as he landed.

Incredibly fast for someone that was not him, Redbreast let his package fall and turned to him, foot first, ready to connect with Bart's ribcage. Only his super-speed saved him from the kick, but surprise allowed the masked boy to throw his cloak over his head and pull, making him fall hard on his haunches.

Bart used his super-speed on time, though, and avoided a second kick.

-That hurt! -he protested.

Redbreast stopped, not relaxing, but allowing him to stop finally in front of him. Then his blue eyes frowned in annoyance.

-What are you doing here? -He asked.

-Me? What are _you_ doing? I saw you stealing those... -Bart stopped and looked at the fallen goods-. Books?! Why the heck are you stealing books?

-I'm not stealing, I'm borrowing -answered Redbreast, picking up the books and avoiding his eyes-. And it's none of your concern.

-Borrowing? You steal books to read them and then return them to their owners? Are you nuts?

The masked boy picked his cloak and buttoned it again before facing him.

-Did you want something or were you only trying to stop my evil plan?

Bart blushed, realizing he was not really sure what he wanted.

-I... er... You have an evil plan?

-Oh, my God! You play the dumbest of the clowns, don't you?

-I have not insulted you!

-You just assumed I'm a burglar -said the boy, turning and heading away-. Did it occur to you that I might find it insulting?

Bart hurried to join him.

-But.. You are wearing a mask! And you hide from the guards! And I just saw you jumping out of a window!

-And you are dress in bright yellow and red, and you are wearing make-up all over your face. Dumbest clown always wears the most striking costume.

Bart frowned.

-Still, you had no right to assume.

-Neither you.

The young clown opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again. That made Redbreast to smile.

-Now, seriously, Bart, is the circus really so boring?

-How do you know my name?!

His smile broadened as he jumped out of the roof.

-Hey!

He followed him, afraid of loosing him again, but the boy was waiting for him, an amused expression in his eyes while he signalled one of the Circus posters. It showed Ricco, Rocco and Marco, featuring young Bartolo... meaning, himself.

-Aw.

-Aw?

-You only remembered it.

-Only? -Now Redbreast seemed offended.

-I mean, you don't have any special power or anything...

His offended frown disappeared and was replaced by an understanding look.

-You were hoping I had some special gift just like you -he was not asking, just assuming again. Worst was, he was right, _again._

He just shrugged, sitting on a bench. Redbreast sat besides him.

-Sorry, just good memory and a dark cloak -his smile had lost all its conceit and his blue eyes seemed really concerned-. Are you all right?

Bart shrugged again.

-It's just that yesterday you called me Flash Kid...

-Did I?

-Yes, you did, and don't act as if you don't remember.

-Ok, ok.. I remember. I did. And? -He seemed at a loss in that very moment.

-Why?

-Don't know. You are quick as a flash... you are a kid...

-That's all?

He shrugged, arching an eyebrow.

-Yeah, that's all. Why?

Bart was disappointed. His mysterious masked guy was just some kind of freaky book borrower with no powers at all, and he had just called him Flash Kid just out of logical connections. Nothing magic, nothing mystical...

He was still alone with his powers and his super-speed.

-Did I offend you? I didn't mean to.

-No, no... It's just that... -Bart dismissed it, feeling stupid all of a sudden-. Nothing, really.

-Look, Bart, I'm really sorry I'm not what you were looking for, but I should be going.

Bart nodded, understanding. He was restraining him from reading his books.

-Do you have a name? So I can stop thinking of you as Redbreast?

This made him smile.

-Nah. Redbreast sounds fine enough, Flash Kid.

-But it's not fair. You know my real name!

-Life is not fair -he said, waking up-. And guards are coming our way, so you better hurry. They don't like people crossing their walls before the curfew.


	6. Ouups

VI.- Ouuuups

Conner woke up when the sun, opening its way through a gap in the curtains, hit his eyes. He grunted, sitting on his bed and rubbing his eyes, wondering how the hell could the sun reach him so early in the morning, when he, slowly, remembered where he was.

He was not home, in his tiny room, west oriented, where the sun barely touched his window at all. He was at Blüdhaven, at Sir Oakwood's place, and he had a mission.

Something snorted at his left and he turned, startled, to find his personal assistant dozing on a corner. He was sitting on a chair and his head lolled dangerously.

He wondered if the boy had slept there all night long only to piss him off and then remembered how he had dismissed him. So…

Smiling, he stood up and walked to the boy, touching his arm. This startled the kid, nearly making him to fall from his chair, reddening when he realized where he was and what had happened.

-I'm sorry, sir! I'm just… I was just…

-You were just snoring like a bear, that's what –he said, amused.

The boy blushed furiously and frowned, standing up, head up. And still he barely reached Conner's chin.

-I'm really sorry, sir. My recklessness is inexcusable and you shall punish me as you see fit –he said, so stiff and proud that Conner hesitated for some seconds.

-Punish you? I don't want to punish you!!

-It's in your hands, sir.

Conner sighed, the mood completely killed.

-Yes, it is! So there is not going to be any punishment.

-As my sir wishes.

The boy was still red in embarrassment and anger, so the Knight decided to change subject.

-I saw a Circus yesterday –he said, walking to the window and opening the curtains, filling the room with warm and energizing sun-. Have you gone there, to see the show?

-No, sir.

-We could go tonight, see the animals and the clowns…

-I very much doubt it, sir.

Tim, who seemed indeed to have regained his normally cool and calmed stance, was arranging his bed. Conner would have helped him, but he didn't want to offend the boy further. So he just watched him work.

-Why not?

-For one, sir, you have a really important appointment tonight if I'm not mistaken -he said, with the flat tone of voice of the rarely mistaken-. And second, even if you could skip it, there could never be a WE, sir.

An appointment? What appointment? And how come Tim knew about it and he did not? And even more important…

-What do you mean "there could never be a WE"?

-I can't walk outside the house limits, sir.

Conner frowned.

Even if he didn't like knights, Tim had no right to lie to him.

-Yesterday I saw how the servants came and went.

-Yes, sir. The _other_ servants, sir.

-Oh… Do you mean YOU are not allowed outside? Like you are… _grounded_?

-You could say so, sir, if you see it clearer this way.

-But why?

-I misbehaved.

Conner didn't realized on that same instant, but later he would recollect this moment and see that, in just one sentence, the boy had regained all his pride. He dropped his servitude and his eyes shone strangely. It was just a moment and, I said, Conner didn't realized at the moment, he was too busy being just surprised.

-Misbehaved? What do you mean "misbehaved"?

-I mean I did something bad, sir –the boy, finished his task with the bed, went to the wardrobe and took some of Conner's clothes-. You know like… misbehaving, sir –he didn't even smile, really, but his eyes gleamed with a sneer, Con was sure-. Now, if you lordship must… -He added, tending the clothes to an astonished knight-. Sir Charles of Oakwood would be waiting for you in the dinning-room as soon as you are ready, sir.

Conner arrived at the dinning-room knowing he was in trouble and knowing that it was his assistant fault. Well, ok, not exactly, but he guessed he had to find a way to get on well with the boy or he was going to regret every single time he opened his mouth.

Tim, who walked one or two steps before him with an air polite indifference, opened the doors slowly while the Knight prepared himself for the scold. Sir Charles looked at him with a frown with an air of polite indifference.

-You are late –was all he said.

-Sorry, I didn't know…

-Kid, you can wait for your master outside –said Charles to Tim, ignoring Conner and his excuses.

The boy curtsied and left, the doors closing behind him. And Conner realized he was alone now with a pair of stiff adults.

-Come, sit down –it was not a suggestion, neither an invitation. It was an order and the boy found himself wondering what would happen if he just didn't obey.

Of course, he was already sitting down as he wondered, so it was not a real rebellion, not even a real tantrum.

-Don't be so hard with the boy, Charles –said Lord Gerrald, his host. –He overslept, so what? As if you never did when you were that young –Then he turned to Conner with a blink that was meant to be friendly but just gave him the creeps-. Has he ever told you how he clinged to his blankets when hi was your age?

-Oh, how funny, Gerry. Yes, I was once reckless and lazy, and it took me a lot to get where I am. I'm only trying to spare this lazy head a few years of useless youth.

-Always so serious about everything –replied his brother as he gestured a servant to drop some vegetables and sausages on Con's plate-. Come on, eat something, boy. You have to get ready.

-For what?

-You are going to meet the earl.

-The earl?

-Yes, so he can tell you exactly what you can do for this poor, vandalized town.

-Oh, that. I heard something about…

-Shhh –cut Lord Charles-. Not here. The walls have ears.

-Oh, don't be absurd, Chuck. Who in this house is going to hear, uh? The servants? They wouldn't even know what to make of the information.

-Still... the earl wanted to inform Conner himself.

Conner listened to the brothers discuss in-between sausages, but didn't know what to add to it. He had lots of questions, but Sir Charles wouldn't answer them, neither was he sure he wanted to hear Lord Gerrald's opinion anymore. The man was a complete jerk. No wonder Tim was so tense.

Suddenly, like hit by serendipity, an idea began forming in his mind.

-Would Tim come?

-Tim?

-Timothy. You know… my assistant.

-Why do you ask?

-Well, I supposed that, as my assistant, he should be with me, anytime. But this morning he told me he couldn't go offgrounds.

-Did he? –lord Gerrald was now serious.

-Yeah... I figured he was lying... I mean… Not that he was smiling or anything… But… -And, as he talked, Conner began to loose confidence in his plan. Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea, after all.

-I bet he was enjoying himself, wasn't he? So he finds it funny to be grounded? Does he think he is going to skip his responsibilities? Call him! –He said to the redheaded boy serving the table. He looked at Conner with a frown before curtseying and going to the door.

"Lord Gerrald wants to talk to you" He hissed while opening the door "The dickhead said something about you being grounded"

"Oh, yes, that"

"You didn't tell me!"

"I knew you would overreact, that's all."

"I'm your best friend, of course I'll over react! You should have told me!"

"Shhh"

Tim entered and Conner pretended to be really interested in his vegetables, Dickhead? They called him the dickhead?

-Yes, sir?

-From now on, let me get this straight, you are not going to leave Sir Conner's shadow until the end of the day. Unless he dismissed you, of course –Lord Gerrald seemed well aware of the boy's ability to do exactly what he was told-.It's your duty to be besides your master day and night. And consider yourself lucky, because this days you are going to spend with Sir Conner are going to be the last you'll see of the streets outside. Understood?

-Yes, sir.

-Ok, now, prepare the horses. We are leaving in ten minutes.

-Yes, sir.

Another curtsy.

His eyes were glass, not betraying any emotion. Conner considered it a bad sign. He had wanted to the boy to be free to wander a bit, not to be told to follow his master's shadow,

Definitely bad, he though, as he tries to hear the servants muffled conversation while the redhead accompanied him to the door.

"And what about your other duties?"

"Guess"

"It's not fair! If that idiot of a knight hadn't opened his mouth…"

"Never mind. Go before they stick you with a royal Knight of your own"

And Conner gulped his last sausages down his throat with a glum feeling.


End file.
